


And Not As We

by andyouknowitis



Series: The 'And...' Series [3]
Category: One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:12:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andyouknowitis/pseuds/andyouknowitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He lays his hands upon those sculpted shoulders then, revelling in the strength beneath his fingertips. Lets his right hand drift up Liam's neck and into his hair, massaging the base of his skull softly before he slides his fingers back down, knitted to the thrum of his pulse just below his jawline. Then it happens.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His mouth meeting his skin is a masterpiece. There isn’t a price that could be paid for this feeling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There aren’t any tricks here, or practised arts, to pull him over the edge. It’s just clean and simple and him. The heat of his tongue along the base of his cock, the nudge of his head as he inhales and kisses the hollow of his thigh before he moves his mouth back, small, soft kisses across the tip, licking up the little drops of precum there, before the hot slide of his mouth again. On and on, little sweeps of his tongue, small nips across his inner thighs as he grows more confident, the brush of his thumbs against his pelvis as he paints pictures with his lips.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Not As We

He lives in a world that is made up of lines.

So many lines. Those drawn and dividing, and those binding and blue.

There are lines of fun and lines of duty. Lines where his name met paper and his heart met compromise. Lines of a world he once lived in, and lines smudged in the world where he lives now.

The line drawn between who you are and who you invent.

But he’s an artist. And he’ll always feel the urge to colour outside the lines.

He stares at the screen of his phone and wonders if, once again, his feet will take him where his heart tells him he needs to go.

He never gets tired of watching him. From the then to the now. All the light and shade of who he is. Parts that speak of dark places met with those that find the light. More than a picture, or a photo, or a sculpture, or a statue. Beyond things made up of fabric or moulded on machine. He is more.

He’s the kind of art that lives. And he evolves and breathes and changes.

There’s a quiet something within him that wants the world to see the all of who he is. Every facet, flaw and fracture; every beautiful, fragile part. There’s also the side of him, the one that knows many can only see in black and white, that wants to keep all that light and life safe. Away from prying eyes and grubby hands. Cared for and protected. Understood and appreciated. Seen best through the eyes of just one private owner.

But that isn’t how art truly lives.

He never asks him for more than he feels that he can give. Never wanted to be another thing he had to worry about. He wants to take away those burdens that cling like hardened muscles to weary bones. Never add to them. Sometimes all he can see is that he’s hurting. And all he wants to do is make it stop.

Maybe he is selfish. Because it’s not like he doesn’t feel hard at just the thought that his mouth is allowed to meet his skin. Not that he ever lets the focus shift to himself. But there have been the times when he’s escaped back to his room, and into his thoughts, drowned out and drained away in the heat of a hot shower.

Sometimes he feels like he has to rationalise and explain it, even to himself. People think they know what they are seeing. They see pictures but forget perspective. There are relationships, and other people, for both of them, it’s true. But they are more open and more brief than many people understand. That people don’t know what happened with him and her. A one time thing, a friendly hook-up, hijacked by men in suits. Fame; the drug, the pusher; publicity. There is like and care there. It’s not what those men made of it, but an agreement they came to alone. That if it had to be done, they’d draw their own lines. Yes sometimes, just sometimes, it’s the comfort of something that is easy, at the end of long nights and longer distances. They can laugh if not love. They try to be discreet for those handful of times when they take solace in someone else. There is no judgement there. They get enough of that elsewhere. But it’s the life that they must live. At least for now.

He worries about Li more than he ever does about himself. From the beginning, more than the rest, he’s the one who seems like he needed not to be alone. So he never was. Falling so hard out of his first big relationship, all drunken nights and one night stands, that he couldn’t help but be the one to try and pick up all those broken pieces, parts made into something new. He’ll never quite know what gave him the confidence, the belief really, that it would be okay, that it would all be okay, if he just did this thing for him, that first time. Only that it felt like something new that he created. That they created. A blend of forms, making art. So good not to paint by numbers. Each and every time, it’s like filling in a piece of a bigger picture he can’t see yet. But it’s the one he enjoys working on the most. It feels like a work in progress. And perhaps all this lives in a place that is not outside the lines but between them. Always between the lines.

It’s late, or more accurately, early. He’s somewhere in the place between wired from the gig, tired from the flight, and chilled from kicking back with Louis for an hour before bed. Louis is the one person in his life who completely, utterly understands what it is to come from a particular type of background, and what happens when you don’t conform in a particular kind of way. And of course there’s a bond born out of knowing what it is to pretend to be a person you’re not. To say your love lives in a place where it never will. It’s not like they really talk about it so much, more that they bounce around some banter and make little sassy, snide remarks. It’s a different kind of release.

He’s never told him about anything about the two of them. It’s too undefined. Not fully formed. Like a sample of an idea, more than a fully fledged thing. He thinks that he knows though. There’s very little Louis ever misses. And he’s more than comfortable enough to appreciate an attractive form with him, when he sees it, even when it happens to be a guy. And, of course there was that one time they were both so out of it, before the first time he’d done it, that he’d asked Louis what it was like giving a guy a blow job, and Louis had no problem telling him, in great detail, just how good it was. He can talk to him about anything. Just not about this. Not yet. Maybe never. He knows he’s there if he needs to, wants to. And he knows Louis knows that too, and it’s enough for now. Of course, Louis has Harry. They don’t really talk about that much either, but they don’t have to. He can see it for himself, in every stance, and frame, and posture. And he often thinks that he could never create something as beautiful as the way they look at one another when they think that no-one else can see.

He sat his phone down on the bedside cabinet and stared at the ceiling. It had gone quiet. Maybe he should go out on the balcony, get some air, have a smoke; anything to help him relax, get some rest. He should be asleep. But he can’t be asleep when he knows Liam is awake. Awake and feeling alone. Maybe he should go to him and try to…be there. It’s been a while though. Easily six months since that time in Australia. Maybe the time has passed. He’s watched him go through an entire new relationship cycle since then. He knew instinctively after that last time, that despite the fact that things were meant to be casual with that new girl, that though he said he was taking it slow this time, that Liam would feel guilty if it happened again. So he stayed away. In that way at least. And watched over him from a distance. Knowing that this latest up would end in another down. He shifted awkwardly on the bed, fidgeting. Wondering if he should just give in and take the matter in hand, try to ease himself into oblivion. His hand is just skirting across his bare stomach when he hears the soft knock on the door.

He sat up and stared at the door. His first thought is that a fan has found their way in despite heavy security. Or that something’s wrong in the hotel. The tap comes again, a little louder this time. Bare feet meet carpet as he hitches his boxer shorts a little higher on his hips and walks to the door. There’s no spyhole to look at who might be there. He stands there for another few seconds. _This is fucking stupid._ Finally he ventures a “Hello,” just loud enough to be heard.

The voice is pitched low, but is distinctive. “It’s me.”

He snaps the lock open and pulls the door a few inches wide. He really is standing there. Never, not once, in all the times, since all of it began, did he come to him first. He was always the one to find him. In dark and quiet corners, drawing him back into the light. His eyes flicker over his face. He looks tired. Maybe he’s assuming too much. Maybe he just can’t sleep and needs someone to talk to. Above anything else, he’s his friend first. He’ll be the friend he clearly needs right now. And if he feels a bit light-headed, like he’s just inhaled too many fumes from wielding a can of tacky spray when he finishes a piece of work, then he can take a breath. Swallow the dryness in his throat. And speak.

“Liam.”

He pulls the door open wider in silent invitation, and after a cursory glance down an empty hall, Liam steps into the room. Zayn watches as he shuts the door behind him. He watches too, as his shoulders rise and fall under the white vest, lets out a breath, like he’s been holding it too long. His voice is quiet.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I just…”

He reaches out a hand then. Just a brush of fingers against his forearm to let him know it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to explain anything. Not to him. He keeps his eyes on his.

“I know. It’s okay. I…saw.”

Those shoulders slumped and his head dropped, eyes finding the ground. “I’m fucking pathetic.”

“Liam…” He tried for words that would reassure. Settled for honest. “It’s okay to feel lonely, and think too much..and whatever. We all do it sometimes.”

He looks up then. His eyes fixing on his. “Do you?”

They’re still standing by the door, and for a moment he’s just seeing him framed by the doorway, the white wood of the door making him stand out in stark relief. Still in his vest and jeans from the flight, barefoot and head bare. He seems older. More weary. He finds words that he hopes are the right ones. Words to make him smile.

“You know I do.” He smiles himself then, just a wry head tilt met with the hint of a smirk. “I just don’t put it all out there on Twitter. Loser.”

The shoulders do lift in a laugh at that. “Just a teenage dirtbag huh?”

“Nah. Bit of an old man now aren’t you? “

“You’re six months older than me!”

“Seven, but I’m pretty, man, so it doesn’t count.”

“So I’m ugly now?”

“Did I say that? You look fine to me. Haircut’s good. Clothes are better. You learned Instagram. Twitter whining though? Loser.”

“Well thanks _bro,_ way to make me feel good about myself. I knew I should have gone to Niall’s room.”

“Not stopping you.”

“Ha yeah okay. You seriously want me to go?”

“No. But only cause Niall never liked you anyway. Told me earlier if he still had his crutches he’d trip you one. Thinks you’re a total wanker to be honest.”

“So that’s how it is. Remind me to accidentally kick him on his knee before we go onstage tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me, you two can fight it out in one corner and the lovebirds can pretend to ignore each other in another, then I can finally take over the band and sing lead on everything.”

“You’re still high right? Hate to remind you but we nearly kicked you out of the band so, could still happen…”

“Don’t think so Payne. You couldn’t hit even half those fucking notes without me.”

“I think you know I could Malik.”

“Maybe on a good night, when you haven’t been crying down your Twitter timeline maybe.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Zayn.”

“Liam.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Do you? I don’t.”

He’d meant it to be flippant. To keep him smiling. To keep him steady.

But now he’s looking at him. And suddenly his stomach feels tight and his head feels hot. He hears it in his voice. In the texture and the tone.

“I think you do.”

And there is it. He doesn’t know what’s stopping him. It’s spread out in front of him like a fresh new canvas. A place for him to draw those old familiar lines. But he just can’t. He tries with words instead.

“Do you…” He draws in a breath. “ I can…you know…” _What is he, five?_ He can’t even say it. Even though he’s done it several times. He tries again. “I mean I can…if you want.”

Liam just looks at him. Speaks a single word.

“No.”

_Well then. Fuck. Never open your mouth again._

“Lie down.”

He blinks at the words. They’re like gravel on sandpaper. Smooth and rough all at once.

“I..” he hesitates, unsure of what he’s hearing. “You want me to lie down?”

“I want to touch you. I want to touch you this time. I want to….do it for you. Is that okay?”

And suddenly he knows why he couldn’t just reach for him like he did before. Because he needed to hear him say this, just this, so much more than he knew. Until now.

He’s trying to make his brain make sense and make words. He manages an echo. “You want to..do it for me.”

Liam watches him carefully, his eyes flickering down his bare torso and back up to his face. He steps a little closer. Just a step, but it’s like a blast of heat, so hot it could melt glass. “I want to taste you. I want to have you in my mouth. I want to..feel you. I want to know what its like. With you.”

He feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. The words painting pictures so vivid that he can’t un-see. He’s far from a virgin. Anymore than Liam is. But he’s never gone beyond a drunken kiss or two, and some fumbling, with any other guy. Never done what he's done with Liam with anyone else. And he’s knows Liam hasn’t either. So it’s like each moment like this is a first time. Their first times. And he feels harder than he’s ever felt.

He wants to reach out and take it. Take him, and let it happen. But he knows that he’s tired and vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to be the reason he can’t look him in the eye tomorrow. He doesn’t want to be a mistake.

“Liam, you don’t have to. You know I can just take care of you..I ca-”

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Of course I want you to.” The words spill out of him so quickly, so forcefully, that they surprise even himself. “I mean I…I just mean..”

Liam lays his right palm flat against his chest and Zayn can feel his heartbeat paint colours under his fingertips.

He feels his hand move up and those fingers brush the back of his neck. Liam's forehead pressed to his, breath hot on his cheek. “Lie down and let me take care of you this time.”

“Liam I..”

He kisses him then. Stops his words with a brush of his mouth. So soft. Then harder. He clasps him closer. Cant help himself. Delicate hands on hard shoulders. They’ve kissed before. But not like this. Somehow not like this. Unspoken words and undrawn images against his tongue.

He feels the murmurs against his mouth. “Tell me what to do. What you like.”

He opened half dazed eyes. His brain trying to compute. _What he likes._ “I really like your shoulders.” He wants to bite off his tongue as he realises quickly that’s not what he meant. “I mean, fuck, I mean..uh..whatever..what do you like..you like what I do to you yeah..so whatever you think..only if you want to…”

Liam just shakes his head. “My shoulders? Really?” He grins. “Remind me to thank Mark for all those hours he makes me put in.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem in a minute.”

 _Did he really just say that?_ He doesn’t have time to think as he watches him pull his vest over his head and toss it to the ground. Fuck, he really does like his shoulders. And the rest of him. He wants to draw endless pictures on him. Take photographs of him with his mind. His breath leaves him in a rush when he feels Liam place his right palm against his cock. He doesn't do anything more than that, just presses against him. He feels himself twitch against his hand through the soft cotton fabric and his head falls back for a moment, before he tries to shake himself free of the lust filled haze as he remembers where they are.

“Liam…”

Those pupils are wide as he looks up from that hand pressed between them. The best kind of red is high on his cheekbones. He wants to bite his lip, turn it a deeper shade of pink. He blinks then as Liam finally answers, with a gravelly “What?”

“You need to…” He blew out a breath. “Don’t think we locked the door. I know it’s late but anyone could…”

Liam’s eyes stay on his for moment, before trailing back down, then up again to rest against his, as he curls his fingers a little tighter around him. Presses his lips to his ear. “Fuck the door.”

He feels like he could come right then, just from his voice, from his touch. He’s never been turned on this quickly, by so little. He tries to focus again. Trying to remember why it’s important. “I just mean…” A shaky breath escapes him as Liam twists his wrist against him a little, just so. “I just…new place..this hotel…you know what management said..”

“Fuck management.”

He manages a half gasp, half laugh. “Now you sound like Louis.”

The movement against him stops at that, as Liam lifts his head from his neck, his brow furrowed. “I’ll do better at this if you don’t mention any of our bandmates okay? Or anyone else.” The frown deepens. “Fuck. This is typical of me. I must not be doing it right…I never seem to ma-”

He hears it then. All the insecurity and fear, sketched over with bravado. He lifts his hands to the sides of his face then, brings his eyes to his, words of reassurance. All of them true.

“Liam. Liam look at me. I can barely fucking think right now.” He tilts his hips against his. “Feel that? That’s got your name on it. If this is you not doing it right, then I dunno what’s gonna happen when you start trying. So just touch me yeah? Please.”

The kiss this time threads their lips together like a tapestry. Weaving in and out, as arms clasp round one another, bare chests met as hips align. Heavy breathing and wet mouths. His eyes are glazed over when he feels him draw back, the soft thud as he slides to his knees. He looks down then, attempts the words, even as he feels himself swaying, dizzy with want.“We can move..the bed..”

He feels the firm grip on his hips as Liam steadies him. Then the the brush of fabric on skin as he skims his boxers down past his thighs to his knees. He feels the tip of his cock brush against his stomach, he’s already so far gone, he knows he’s not going to last long and _God he’s going to put his mouth on me._

Liam looks up then. His gaze is steady as he speaks. “Hold on to me.”

He lays his hands upon those sculpted shoulders then, revelling in the strength beneath his fingertips. Lets his right hand drift up Liam's neck and into his hair, massaging the base of his skull softly before he slides his fingers back down, knitted to the thrum of his pulse just below his jawline. Then it happens.

His mouth meeting his skin is a masterpiece. There isn’t a price that could be paid for this feeling.

There aren’t any tricks here, or practised arts, to pull him over the edge. It’s just clean and simple and him. The heat of his tongue along the base of his cock, the nudge of his head as he inhales and kisses the hollow of his thigh before he moves his mouth back, small, soft kisses across the tip, licking up the little drops of precum there, before the hot slide of his mouth again. On and on, little sweeps of his tongue, small nips across his inner thighs as he grows more confident, the brush of his thumbs against his pelvis as he paints pictures with his lips.

He feels the hot breath of his mouth as he pulls back, words pressed along the front of his thigh. “Is this okay? Is this right?”

He doesn’t know how to tell him, can’t even compute, surely he must know how good he’s making him feel. His mouth begins to move against him again and he realises he doesn’t need to say anything but he wants to give the answer. Wants him to know. It’s already the best he’s ever had, better than it’s ever been, and he’s gripping his shoulders, trying to stay steady, be careful with him. “Oh fuck Liam…Li you gotta know..that’s so good…it’s so good..you’re so…so..your mouth is amazing…so hot…you’re so hot..so good..I wanna..want you to..need you…need you to..touch me..”

He pulls Liam’s right hand up and away from where it’s resting on his left hip. “Come here.” Liam blinks up at him, lips glazed, cheeks flushed, watching as he leans forward and brings his hand to his mouth. His tongue meets his palm, licks from base to fingertip, eyes on his. “Touch me now.”

Liam’s hand fixes round the base of his cock, and he moves his wrist experimentally, making him gasp out a soft “Fuck” as his mouth slides over the top again and he works his hand and lips around him in tandem. And he wants to tell him his mouth was made for this. For him. That the only thing better is when he gets to have Liam’s cock in his mouth. When he can draw his lips across his skin. But he doesn’t say any of it, just feels and hopes he feels it too.

The wet sounds as his mouth plays along him are driving him crazy, so fucking good, that he can’t stop his hips from moving. “Fuck. Fuck this is..right there…there..oh fuck you’re so fucking good at this…I wanna…I wanna…” His grip on his shoulders tightens as the hue of all the colours behind his eyelids flare, as his head falls to his chest. His breath hisses out like the spray of paint from a can. “Liam I’m gonna…Li you have to stop…I’m gonna come…I have to come..you need to move so I can..you don't have to....oh fuck… _I have to I have to…_ please let me..please..”

He tries to move but Liam’s grip on his hips tightens, holding him steady against that mouth. His lips tighten around him then, soft sucking, as the insides of his cheeks brush against the sides of his cock and he’s gone. Can’t stop it. Can’t want to. And “Oh fuck Liam Liam Liam fuck yes _”_ spills from his lips then his hand tightens in his hair, with the other gripping his shoulder, as he begins to come apart against his mouth. Hips tense and shallow breathing, and all he can see is light flashing off mirrors into colours, so much colour. Full hearts met with fractured parts, edges melding over and over into new patterns, moving, moving, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s full of light, chasing the dark, this beautiful symmetry, their very own kaleidoscope.

*

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. He can hardly feel his legs. _Liam just sucked me off._ He wants to laugh. _Liam._ But he manages to swallow it down. So to speak. He doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea. He can’t let him think, has to make sure he knows, that this wasn’t anything less than amazing. He looks down then. Liam’s still on his knees, still got his hands splayed across the back of his thighs, where they’d slipped in those last few moments. His face is pressed against his thigh. He feels where his breathing has grown heavy as those sexy shoulders move beneath his hands. He squeezes his fingers against him lightly, a soft hello. He looks up at him then, skin flushed, hair tangled from his fingers, a single, small word on his lips, “Alright?”

The laugh does bubble up then. “I don’t know Li, you just let me come in your mouth, what do you think?”

He watches as he opens said mouth, then shuts it again, before a small smile creeps up to the corners of his lips. He loves that smile. Loves that he put it there.

He pulls up his boxers then, and fuck he came so hard that he still feels sensitive _._ He reaches out a hand to haul him up, drawing him to the nearest side of the bed so they can both sit on the edge.

“So..” He flicks a glance down at Liam’s jeans, tighter now. Tilts his chin up.“You okay there?”

Liam shifts uncomfortably next to him and he knows he's feeling a bit embarrassed as he tries to shrug it off. “Uh, yeah, I mean..I kind of thought maybe I should just..you know..myself…while I..I wanted to…but I was trying to concentrate so..I mean not that I had to concentrate..you were…I was enjoying..well..anyway..” He trails off as the colour flares in his cheeks again.

_Fuck. You are adorable._

“I know what you meant. Takes practice” He grins then. “Apparently.”

“It’s not..I mean I can just…I can go now..”

“You could do that. Or I could just get you off myself.”

“You mean…”

He clicks his tongue. “Just a handjob Li..no pressure…although on second thought..”

That made him laugh. “I can’t believe we’re talking about handjobs.”

He shifts so he's facing him then, and lays a palm against his face. “Can I do more than talk about it then?” He doesn't say more than that. Just waits. His mind tripping over with hope and want.

_I want you to be fucking proud that you can make me come like that. And I want to make you feel the way that you make me feel. Let me do this for you. Please._

The moment feels like it's been stretched out like spun glass. He lets out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding at the brief nod against his hand and then it’s lips met as he pushes him back against the bed and fumbles with the button of his jeans. Damp fingers and hot, hard skin, firm against his hand. He finds a rhythm easily as he trails kisses across his neck and collarbone, finds his ear to whisper heated words. He has a pretty good idea of what gets him going, from the kind of stuff Liam’s said to him when he’s gone down on him before. He has a pretty spectacular line in dirty talk for someone from Wolverhampton. It’s easy to tell him how great his cock is anyway, as it is. He could touch it all day. Tells him so. Tells him that he wants to suck him off again. That he wants to taste his come again. That he loves that they’ve tasted each other’s come. That he wants to make him come _right now._

He feels the hot wash against his hand as it spills onto Liam’s bare stomach and brushes against his own. He holds him still against him for a moment before brushing a kiss across his now dampened forehead. _There now._

He casts a glance over the sprawled form now staring at the ceiling. Bare chest, the rise and fall of his breathing, jeans pushed low on his hips. He’d gone commando. That was a nice surprise. He wants to lick the trickle of come across his tummy. _Really wants to_. But he resists the urge. He doesn’t want to freak him out just now. He can hardly believe they’ve gone from him giving Liam the occasional blow job, just a blow job, to what they’ve just done. It’s different. More intimate. Not that it wasn’t intimate before, his need to make him feel better, even at the expense of himself, always made those times special to him. He didn’t regret any of it. But now? Now he’d had more. Needed more. And that brought a world of complications with it. Which was nothing new.

He shifted across the bed quietly. Grabbed some tissues from the side of the bed and handed them to Liam so he could clean up. Liam stirred from his exploration of the ceiling and glanced down at himself and then the tissues, before wiping the necessary away and balling the dampened squares into his hand. “I think I should…” He gestured to his hand with a lift of his shoulder. “I’ll just use the toilet a minute.”

He watched him pad across the room. Watched the light snap on and the door shut behind him. Listened to the trickle of water, the toilet flush and the sound of the tap running. He drew his knees up and rested his elbows across them, head bowed. _Fuck._ He really hoped he hadn’t fucked this up. For so many reasons. Mostly because he couldn’t bear to lose him as a friend. He just couldn’t be the one who made life more difficult for him.

His head snapped up as Liam clicked the en-suite light off and came back into the room. He watched him hesitate for a moment, as he looked at his white vest lying on the ground before picking it up and walking over to the other side of the bed, where he sat down, drawing his feet up so he could sit cross-legged. He can't tear his eyes away from those fingers as he watches him twist the white fabric in his hands, knotting it and releasing it, before he speaks. “So..”

 _Why do I feel so nervous?_ Then he’s echoing him again. “So..”

Liam looks up at him then. “Thanks.”

 _Thanks but..?_ He opens his mouth to respond but Liam holds up a hand. “Wait, let me finish. I don’t mean thanks for..” He gestures a hand in the air. “That.” A grin flashes as he dips his head and stares at his twisting fingers again. “Although that was really great.” His head lifts again. “I mean thanks for…being here for me. I know I’m fucked up and I’ve got a lot of shit to sort out and everything..”

“Liam you’re not anym-”

“No, wait…just let me say this. I’m trying to sort my head out. I keep feeling like I’m hurting someone whatever I do. And I don’t mean to. But that doesn’t make it better. And I just feel like shit sometimes. But you..” Another hand gesture. “This…whatever it was…is. It’s not part of that. You make me feel better about myself. So..thanks.”

He stared at him, feeling the burn at the back of his throat. “Would it be weird if I hugged you now?”

Liam angled his head, as if considering. “Fuck, Malik, I don’t know. I know what your come tastes like now, so probably, yeah.”

He grinned at that, threw a soft punch at his arm. “Shut up.” Liam grabbed his hand as it brushed his bicep, and gave another grin. “You shut up.” He lifts their joined hands, more serious now. “So this is…”

“Something.”

“Yeah. It’s something. You know if they…they’ll complicate things. They already do. They keep..well you know.”

“Yeah, I know." A sigh then. "I’ve got plenty of already going on…”

Liam stared at the far wall as he scrunched up the white vest again in his free hand. “You know, this doesn’t have to..I mean we can just leave this here…if you want.”

“No.”

Brown eyes met his. “No?”

“No. I’m not suggesting we take out an ad out in _The Sun,_ but fuck them. We can do our own thing quietly Li, and they can do theirs.”

“Our own thing?”

He shrugged. “Whatever this is…” His eyebrows went up with a smile. “Whatever goes on outside this room..or whatever place we’re in..our space..it’s ours. You and me. We don’t always have to be who they want us to be. I want to do this again. I want to see.”

The silence stretches out like a strand of silk. Finally Liam’s fingers tighten against his. The words are a quiet whisper, as strong as that silken strand, not easily broken. “Me too.”

They’re quiet then, as they watch the dawn work its way across the room.

Soon, he walks him to the door, where he smoothes down the crumpled white vest after he slips it back on, and he brushes his lips against his, before watching him pad quietly down the hall to his own room. He watches him walk away, but this time he knows he’ll find a way to walk back to him, somehow, when he can. He finds his hand itching for a pencil, chalk, spray paint; anything. Anything so he can capture what’s inside his head right now. He feels like he could draw an entire world, just from what’s he’s feeling.

_Maybe he’ll paint a picture. And maybe, one day, the world will get to see it._

*

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from AEMB, picking things up some months later, taking place in the early hours of the morning, after their arrival in Argentina, May 2nd 2014. 
> 
> There was something in the air in that art class that made me write. In which I explore Zayn the artist and Liam the artform. And what they could create together. Shamelessly written to the strains of Ed Sheeran’s 'One.'


End file.
